


Don't Take Notes on How to Get the Girl from Root

by EvvieJo



Series: Groves & Shaw [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvvieJo/pseuds/EvvieJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Root and Shaw get a new number and are reminded that they are, after all, not like most people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Take Notes on How to Get the Girl from Root

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this went a little slowly, but I hope at least some of it turned out okay. Enjoy!

“I think the neighbors might need another casserole,” Shaw said, propping her head on her shoulder, and twisting it to see the large bruise that was beginning to bloom on her left side. “Or some earplugs.”

“And I think we broke the table.”

Root pointed to the place where the top of the coffee table had cracked. Neither of them was sure how exactly that happened. What was clear, was that Shaw must have crashed into it with her side, but at the moment of impact both of them were too busy with other things to notice such details. They had barely paid attention when they somehow fell off the couch and onto the floor. Maybe it was even then when the accident took place, although Root was quite convinced Shaw was on top of her as they hit the ground.

“That’s more of a fact than an opinion,” Sameen said, examining the table for a moment. “But I’ve changed my mind about the blanket. I like the blanket.”

When she had first seen what Root claimed to be a comforter for long winter nights, Shaw declared it to be a useless eyesore. It was a huge sheet of fuscia fluff, and that was simply too much for her minimalist decor style. But as it turned out, the blanket proved perfect if you landed on it falling off of a couch, while having sex with your girlfriend. Coffee table accidents notwithstanding.

It still felt strange to call Root her girlfriend in her mind, in some ways even stranger than realizing for the thousandth time that all this is real, and that Root was really back from the dead. Before, there was no need to put labels on what they were doing. Hooking up used to be a enjoyable way to pass the time whenever the world around them seemed to slow down for a while. And it was good. Casual. Sure, Root always made it perfectly clear she had feelings for her, but Shaw liked not addressing the issue on her part. Even if there were times when something stirred in her or when the emptiness around her felt a little less empty, she still couldn’t tell exactly what those feelings were. What she did know was she wanted Root alive and well, and most of the time, she wanted to be with her.

Suddenly, Root sat upright, interrupting Sameen’s thoughts. Only when she moved did Shaw realize she had been watching her unconsciously.

“We gotta go,” Root said, smacking Shaw lightly on the thigh. “New number.”

“How do you know?” Shaw frowned. “Are you getting them directly now?”

“I may have made some changes in the Machine for convenience, since Harold didn’t stick around to restrict me,” Root admitted with a half-smile. “Come on, places to be, people to save.”

Root got up, grabbing the clothes Shaw had torn off her earlier, and began putting them on, aware that Sameen’s eyes were still on her.

“So, does She ever talk to you while we’re having sex?,” Shaw asked.

“Like what?” Root smirked and leaned low over her. “Does She ever give me tips on how to get you off?”

There was almost no space left between their faces now, and Shaw wished she could take all those clothes back off Root. But she didn’t even stir.

“Yeah, something like that. So does She?”

“No, She respects my privacy. Though She knows everything and now She’s getting impatient, because we should be getting to work.”

Shaw rolled her eyes as she hauled herself to her feet to get dressed. By the time she was ready, Root had already fetched Bear from the bedroom, and was standing by the door with his leash in one hand and the car keys in the other.

They drove to the subway mostly in silence, comfortable with it. Shaw was beginning to appreciate Root’s idea of normal life; those moments when they weren’t surrounded by flying bullets and didn’t need to strategize getting around without Samaritan discovering them were indeed quite pleasant. Even if she missed the adrenaline rush all of those things used to give her.

It took only a moment to find out that the number provided by the Machine belonged to one Corrie Jacobsen. Corrie was a twenty-one year old working in a coffee place in the Upper East Side and attending evening classes at a community college. Surprisingly, her digital footprint was limited for someone her age; she wasn’t on Facebook or Instagram, or any other social network. Or at least so it seemed at first. A little digging led Root to uncovering a deactivated account and to her e-mail.

“It looks like she stopped sharing things a month ago,” she said, examining her findings. “And I think I might know why.”

She pointed to the messages she retrieved from Corrie’s e-mail account’s recycle bin. The account from which they were sent didn’t have a name attached to it, just the letter B and a string of numbers. Whoever it was, had to be big fan of on-line anonymity.

“That’s some stalker stuff,” Shaw remarked, reading through the last message. “ _Only me can make you happy?_ Who wrote that? A five-year-old?”

Root smirked at her.

“I better cross-reference this with all of Ms. Jacobsen’s friends’ school reports to check who failed English.” She paused for a moment to type something on the keyboard. Whatever the result of it was, it clearly told her much more than it did Shaw. “But excelled in the computer lab. They encrypted their IP address.”

“Can you decrypt it?”

Before she answered, Root typed some more on the laptop, and stood up gracefully from the desk. She made sure she ended up mere inches from Shaw, and discovered that she didn’t jerk away from her.

“Of course I can, sweetie,” Root said, putting her hands gently on Shaw’s shoulders to move her a little to the side, so she could open the drawer where she had left their freshly printed business cards. “It can take a while, so we better not waste time. Wanna grab a coffee?”

 

The cafe where Corrie Jacobsen worked turned out to be an independent place that sold great coffee and overpriced baked goods. The inside was dark, though cosy, cluttered with huge padded armchairs and decorative details like ceramic cats and wrought iron candle holders. Shaw found it to be a bit much, but Root clearly enjoyed the atmosphere. They settled at a free table that was nearest to the high wooden counter, where their number was operating the cash register.

The girl looked tired and anxious, with deep purple shades under her eyes; they showed even through the make-up she was wearing. Despite not being in the best shape, she was kind to customers and offered everyone a small polite smile. Root smiled back at her as she placed their order – a vanilla latte for her and a double shot Americano for Shaw.

“Busy day, huh?,” Root said, waving at the crowded room behind her. She needed Corrie to remember them better than any other customer in the cafe if they wanted their number to become their first official client.

“Yeah, I guess.” Corrie made a weak attempt at a smile, handing Root her change. “But I like it. Keeps my mind off- of stuff. You know.”

Root nodded sympathetically.

“I know the feeling.”

“I’ll get you your coffee shortly,” said Corrie, indicating that small talk was over.

Slightly disappointed that her charm wasn’t enough to keep the conversation going, Root returned to their table. Shaw had spent the entire time watching the exchange with Corrie and flipping one of the brand new business cards between her fingers. She barely moved her eyes from the counter to Root as she approached the table.

“You really think she’s gonna come to us herself?,” Shaw asked in a hushed voice.

“If she’s desperate enough.” Root shrugged, taking out her phone. “We are going to keep her under surveillance anyway, in case she doesn’t.”

With a few taps on the device’s screen, she cloned their number’s phone, and was about to go through the messages, when Sameen kicked her in the ankle to get her attention. Corrie was on her way with their order, making a bee-line between the couple of tables that separated them from the counter. Root dropped her phone into her lap, promptly reaching the hand that had just been holding it to put over Shaw’s. The sudden gesture made Shaw jump up an inch in her seat, but she hoped no one noticed.

The look Root gave her made it obvious one person definitely did.

“Come on, Sam, there is nothing wrong about a couple holding hands in public,” she teased.

Before Shaw had time to answer, Corrie reached their table and was placing their drinks in front of them. She made an effort to give them both a tiny polite smile, which they returned, thanking her. She dropped her gaze to the table, as she picked her tray back up, and her eyes lingered a second longer on their interlocked hands, and then on the crisp business card that was now lying next to Shaw’s coffee cup.

“Enjoy,” Corrie said with one last weak attempt at forcing her lips to arch up.

“A couple? So we’re a couple now?” Shaw raised her eyebrows.

It wasn’t an entirely new idea, but it was weird to put this label on whatever this was. Calling Root her girlfriend was somehow different, even if the two things meant essentially the same.

“I suppose that’s what two people who live together, have sex with each other, and care about each other are usually called.”

“One, I still have my own place,” Shaw said. “Two, okay, yes, we do have sex. But who said I care about you? I don’t really care about people.”

Root stared at her dubiously.

“You do care. You hugged me when I came back from the dead,” she pointed out.

“I don’t hug,” Shaw countered, and jerked her hand out of Root’s grasp. It didn’t suit what she was saying to keep her hand there.

“So what was that? I can distinctly remember your arms around me.”

Sameen rolled her eyes and took a gulp of coffee to delay her answer. It burnt her throat. Damn it.

“I was checking if I wasn’t losing it. That you weren’t a simulation.” She picked the business card up again to distract herself.

“Okay.” Root must have decided to let it go, but there was a smile playing around one of the corners of her mouth as she took a sip of her latte. With all the things that had happened, all the moments they shared, there was nothing that could ever convince her Shaw didn’t care. She did care, even if she had a hard time admitting it sometimes.

For a moment they stayed quiet, Root watching their number, and Shaw glaring at the business card in her hand like she was trying to move it with the power of her mind.

“You never told me why you chose that name,” Sameen finally broke the silence, tapping on the place on the card that said _Groves_. “I always thought you didn’t like it.”

“Well,” Root began carefully, lacing her fingers together on the edge of the table in front of her. “It seems most people don’t put their hacker pseudonyms on their business cards, and they tend to have a first and a last name. I was giving myself a clean identity, so why shouldn’t I get back my own? And-“ She hesitated and chuckled quietly to herself. “I got used to being called Ms. Groves.”

“And you miss Harold,” Shaw said.

Root nodded and took Shaw’s hand again. This time Shaw didn’t flinch.

“And you do too.”

Sameen didn’t attempt to deny it, she just put the business card back on the table and drank another mouthful of coffee.

“Just tell me I don’t have to call you Samantha,” she said. “Or Sam. That’d be weird.”

“You can still call me Root. I’d rather prefer that.”

“Good.” Shaw almost smiled as she answered.

They exchanged a glance before going back to work. Root finally got around to digging into Corrie Jacobsen’s phone, while Shaw kept her eye on the waitress herself. Neither turned out to be much help to their investigation; to Root’s surprise, she didn’t find any suspicious texts, not even a trace of them. It seemed whoever was stalking Corrie, they didn’t use their cell phone to do it. However, going back a few months, Root stumbled upon an outgoing message that looked like a decent lead.

“Look at that,” she said, and placed her phone on the table in front of Shaw.

“Brendon,” Sameen read out in a hushed voice. “ _It’s over, don’t you get that??”_ Interesting. He never answered to it. But it seems we’ve got our stalker.”

 

Discovering Brendon’s identity required splitting up. Shaw picked staying to observe Corrie from outside of the cafe. Before they left, she tucked their business card casually under her cup, so that Corrie could possibly find it. She then settled in the car, watching their number, while Root took the subway back to Chinatown.

A quick search of Corrie’s digital footprint led Root to a Brendon Huffmann. He was a couple years older than Corrie and it seemed he used to live around the block from her growing up. He did not shy away from social media, so it took a moment to find pictures of him and Corrie that suggested quite clearly they used to date. The last of the photos had been posted five months before, approximately a month before Corrie sent him the message saying it was over.

Finding him was just one GPS search away, and before long, Root was locking up their new subway door, heading to meet him.

Brendon Huffmann worked at a warehouse in Red Hook, and it was there that the signal from his phone placed him. When Root reached the building, there was a security guard dozing off at a front desk, letting her slip by unnoticed. The Machine led her straight to the storage area where Corrie’s ex-boyfriend was working.

“Hey, Brendon,” she said, entering the room soundlessly and making him jump.

He almost dropped the clipboard and pen he was holding, and whipped his head around. He was relatively handsome, with brown hair and hazel eyes, though he was lanky like a fourteen-year-old who hasn’t quite managed to gain full control of his body.

“You scared me,” he said, putting the clipboard down on a pile of boxes. He squinted his eyes at Root. “Do I know you?”

She grinned, walking up slowly to him and lacing her hands coyly in front of her.

“No, you don’t.” Brendon recoiled when she stopped a foot away from him. Too close to be comfortable. “I think you might know Corrie, though.”

“Corrie?” He frowned. “You’re a friend of Corrie’s?”

“More of an acquaintance.” Deliberately, she took a step to the side, rounding the stack of boxes she had found Brendon at. “But I happen to know that Corrie has found herself in some trouble.”

That made him a little more attentive. He followed her with his gaze, scrunching his eyebrows together, as if he was performing a demanding mental exercise.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Well, Brendon,” Root said sweetly, “I’m pretty sure you know.”

Something seemed to click in his brain then. Root barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes; some people made it incredibly hard to treat them seriously.

“Wait, she still thinks I’m stalking her?” His astonishment seemed sincere. Too bad. “I haven’t talked to her in months. I don’t even know where she lives now.”

Root stared at him for a long moment, until he turned crimson and started sweating profusely.

“I swear to God, if someone is still bothering Corrie, it’s not me! She told me to leave her alone, and I did!”

“Why did you two break up?,” Root asked him conversationally. Even that tone appeared to make him anxious. “Jealousy? Possessiveness? Another man? Another woman?”

Brendon looked disoriented at first, as if he’d forgotten what happened.

“She told me we had different priorities. That we didn’t have enough in common.”

“That’s a smart girl, then. Always look for someone with similar interests.” Root smiled at him widely. “Just one more question, Brendon. How good are you with computers?”

 

Shaw’s biggest regret during her stakeout was not having had anything to eat while they were at the cafe. Going back in now was out of the question, and her stomach was churning loudly. What was even worse was that the surveillance didn’t offer much to distract her for the first two hours. The patrons acted like assholes, rich hipster types who complained about everything, from someone putting soy milk instead of almond in their coffee to their muffin not having enough chocolate chips in it. Shaw was glad her days in retail were over, and in a way, she could even sympathize with the waitresses.

She noticed that another girl in the staff seemed to be close with Corrie, who visibly relaxed when she approached her in one of the quieter moments. The line at the counter had dispersed and all customers had been served, leaving the two waitresses in a far corner behind the counter, talking quietly. Their voices were too low for Shaw to hear anything over the bluejacked phone, but from observing their body language, she could tell this was definitely someone Corrie trusted.

“Hey, sweetie, what’s up?,” Root’s voice sounded cheerily in Shaw’s earpiece suddenly. “Any news?”

“People are dicks and I’m hungry, so no.”

“I, however, do have news. Brandon is not the stalker. The guy can barely check his e-mail without assistance.”

Shaw raised her eyebrow.

“So, is that good news or bad news?”

“Well,” Root said, “I didn’t say it was either. But, I ran a quick search of Brendon’s Facebook friends, looking for tech-savvy people.”

There was a pause, as if Root was waiting for a drum roll.

“And?”

“And, guess who has a brother at Columbia, studying engineering with a minor in computer systems, and whose name also starts with a B?”

“Couldn’t you just say so?” Sameen rolled her eyes; she was convinced Root could sense that. “So what’s this brother’s name?”

But before she found that out, she noticed a figure lurking at a car parked across the street from her. Judging by the dark hoodie he was wearing and the furtive looks he was casting one way and the other, he was going for stealthy. He was failing quite miserably.

“His name’s Bentley,” Root said. “I’m sending you a picture. According to his driver’s licence, he is of medium built, five foot ten, brown hair-“

Once glance on the photo and Shaw knew it was the guy she’d just spotted.

“Gotcha,” Shaw interrupted her. “He also likes to wear black hoodies and hang around his brother’s ex-girlfriend’s work, I guess.”

“He’s there?”

“Yup, the stalker’s there and doing stalker things,” Shaw confirmed, watching as Bentley Huffmann leaned faux-casually against his car. If that was his definition of low-profile, they had different dictionaries.

“I’m on my way,” Root said and ended the call.

It took her less than twenty minutes to reach the cafe, making Shaw think she was already coming when she called. In the meantime, the only thing that changed was Corrie leaving her station and disappearing in the back. Bentley stood fixed in the same spot, looking as suspicious as ever. Root snuck up to the car and slipped in without the stalker noticing.

“How’s stakeout?,” she asked, taking her seat next to Shaw.

“Boring. And coming to an end.” Sameen gestured at the cafe.

Inside, Corrie was just walking out of the back, changed out of her work uniform and apron, and into jeans and a sweater. She was putting on her overcoat as she approached her friend behind the counter.

“I’ll see you at home later, okay?,” they heard over the connection with Corrie’s phone.

“Will you be okay?,” the other girl asked with concern.

“So they’re roommates. Makes sense,” Shaw remarked, glancing at Root, who raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Like we’re roommates.”

Shaw whipped her head around to see Corrie pecking the other waitress on the lips quickly and heading towards the door.

“Alright, they’re a couple. Time to go,” she said, rolling her eyes at Root’s smirk.

Before she managed to reach the door handle, Root grabbed her by the arm.

“Wait.”

They watched as their number went out into the street, wrapping herself tighter with her coat and picking up her pace. Her moves were small and nervous, her eyes were down. She must have been too scared to be out in the open to even look out for the real danger, avoiding all eye contact.

Corrie was a few feet away from him when Bentley pushed himself off of his car, taking his hand out of his pocket with something white in his hand.

“Now we are going,” Shaw said, pushing the car door open. Root followed suit. “Hey, Bentley!”

Both the victim and the stalker jerked their heads up at the same moment. The terror blanched Corrie’s face in a second, while Bentley hurried to shove the ether-soaked rag back into his pocket. He was about to dash into his car when Root jogged up to him to block his way.

“What do we have here?,” she said, reaching casually into the pocket of Bentley’s hoodie. “Ooh, smelly stuff. No one ever told you the way to a girl’s heart is not through kidnapping?”

Shaw sent her a dubious glance.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Come on, Sam, you’re special.” Root smiled sweetly at her, before turning back to Bentley. “I’m pretty sure Corrie does not appreciate your attentions. Am I right?”

Corrie looked with a mixture of horror and confusion from Root to Bentley to Shaw, and it took her a moment to nod in response.

“See? You’re being creepy. Stop.”

“Who the hell are you?,” he asked, straightening and staring down at Root defiantly.

He couldn’t have known that she wasn’t easily intimidated. Without breaking eye contact with him, Root took out a flash drive from her jeans pocket and lifted it up to show him.

“Just some people with dirt on you.” She put the drive back where it came from. “I have to admit, you’re pretty good, covering up your tracks and all. I’m just better. There’s probably only one person who could possibly beat me, though, so don’t feel bad about yourself.”

Bentley was clearly getting furious, clenching his fists and casting murderous glances at the two women who had interrupted his plan.

“Don’t you get it? She belongs with me!,” he said angrily to Root, waving a fist at Corrie, who cowered behind Sameen. “She just needs to realize it! She shouldn’t have been with my brother, or with that skank, she’s supposed to be with me!”

Shaw raised an eyebrow; she almost felt pity for him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the way she’d be acting if you were right,” she said. “She’s terrified of you.”

“I would never be with you, Bentley.” Corrie finally found her voice and took a step forward, still keeping Shaw in front of her. “You’re arrogant and violent, and I never even wanted to hang out with you. It’s not because I dated your brother, and it definitely isn’t because of Melanie. It’s because of _you_.”

Miraculously, Bentley’s knuckles went even whiter than before, and Root was expecting him to punch something or someone and moved a step away. Shaw took out her gun and pointed it at him, rolling her eyes.

“One move and I’ll shoot you,” she told him. “And then my girlfriend is going to be pissed, ‘cause I’m not supposed to be shooting people.”

Bentley turned his attention fully on Shaw, holding on to the rest of his restraint for a moment. That was enough for Root to decide he wasn’t going to keep calm for much longer and it was time for her to intervene.

The second Bentley Huffmann began walking towards Shaw and Corrie, Root whipped out her taser and unleashed 50,000 volts onto him, making him crumble lifelessly to the ground.

“Nice,” Shaw said sarcastically. “Be careful, or I’ll get jealous.”

“You don’t get jealous, sweetie.”

“Good point.”

“Is he- dead?,” Corrie interrupted them in a small voice. It seemed she was still terrified.

Root shrugged and checked his pulse. A little erratic, but certainly present.

“Nope, still eligible for arrest.” She looked to Shaw, producing zip-ties from her jacket. “A little help?”

Tying Bentley up and stuffing him into the backseat of their car took them a couple of minutes, during which Corrie watched them with concern. She wasn’t fully comfortable with what was happening, however, incapacitating the man who’d been harassing her for months made her trust them enough to stick by them until they were done.

“You were at the cafe earlier,” she said, once Shaw shut the car door with a bang. “How did you know he was going to do this?”

Root’s mouth tugged up in one corner.

“A little birdie told us. It’s kind of our job.”

Corrie looked like she wanted to ask another question, but eventually she just nodded and reached into her coat. When she took her hand back out, she was holding the business card they had left at their table. It looked a little more battered than the last time Shaw saw it.

“You’re P.I.s, right?” Root nodded in reply. “I was- I was actually going to ask you for help.”

“See, I told you it would work,” Root turned to Shaw.

Shaw forced a smile at Corrie.

“She likes being right. Don’t listen to her.”

“Okay, now I’m not sure if I shouldn’t have you arrested for stalking me, too,” Corrie said. “But you did save me, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Do I have to pay you or something?”

Root circled the car to take the driver’s seat.

“It’s not like you were our client.”

“You still helped me,” pointed out Corrie. “And it’s your job.”

“We’re not exactly used to getting paid for it, though,” Shaw shrugged, opening the door on the passenger’s side. “Just go home, this creep won’t be bothering you anymore.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Corrie nodded in agreement.

“Thanks then, I guess.” She paused and frowned. “By the way, that thing about her kidnapping you,” she said to Sameen, “is that true?”

“Yup.”

“She kinda liked it, so it doesn’t count,” Root added. “But you know, she’s not like most people.”

That didn’t appear to make Corrie more at ease.

“Alright, I don’t want to know. Again, thanks-“ She held up the business card and read out, “Groves and Shaw. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Doesn’t it?,” Root said with a smile.

 

Walking through the hallways of the 8th Precinct felt just like the old days. Root made her way confidently with the Machine telling her all she needed to know. The station was almost empty, but she hadn’t even waited for Her confirmation before she drove here, she knew she was going to find exactly the person she was looking for.

She found him at his desk, bending over paperwork in the bright light of his desk lamp which made for the only illumination in the room. All the other detectives had clocked off, but he was still there, diligent as ever. Maybe even more diligent now that he was alone. The desk across from him had not been reassigned to anyone new, even though it no longer bore the name of Detective Riley.

Lionel Fusco didn’t look up at the sound of her footsteps. He was knitting his brow over a thick stack of files, his reading glasses slipping down his nose.

“Hello, Lionel,” Root said, making him jump up in his seat.

He blinked quickly to adjust his eyes to the dim lighting of the rest of the room.

“Okay, either you’re pulling a prank on me or I really gotta get the hell outta here, ‘cause I’m going crazy,” he said, and rubbed his eyes.

“You are perfectly fine,” Root said, pulling up a chair to sit next to his desk.

“Cocoa Puffs? Are you for real?” He sounded almost relieved, before he added in an annoyed voice, “I went to your funeral.”

“And I appreciate that. But I wasn’t in the coffin.”

She made a grimace.

“Of course you weren’t.” Fusco sighed, going back to his file. He began turning the page, then stopped halfway. “Any chance my partner wasn’t in his?”

Root put her hand over Fusco’s forearm comfortingly, just for a second; she took it back before he could shake it off.

“You know he was.”

“I know. Just checking.” He glanced at her sideways. “You let Sameen know, though, didn’t you? She’d be pissed if you told me before telling her.”

“She found out first, sorry.”

“Sure. So, what do I owe the honor?”

Root grinned at him, taking out the flash drive with everything she had on Bentley Huffmann.

“I know it’s not really your department, but there is evidence on this, and you’re the only friend we have on the force right now.”

“Evidence? Of what?”

“Stalking.” Root stood up gracefully and began walking away. Then, she turned back to Fusco, as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh, and the suspect’s on the front steps, I’m not sure how long he’ll stay unconscious.”

Fusco sighed deeply and closed the file he’d been reading.

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Thanks, Lionel.” Root reached into her pocket again, and placed another of their crisp business cards on his desk. “In case you wanna catch up.”

He picked the card up with a frown.

“Going steady, huh?”

“You could say so.”

She made a little waving gesture at him, and headed back towards the hallway. It felt good to be back here, working with Lionel.

“Hey, Cocoa Puffs?,” he said after her, and she glanced back at him. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Root nodded in acknowledgement and started back down the hallway. It was almost like it used to be, as close as it could ever be without John and Harold. She let out a tiny sigh and pushed the precinct door open. Chilly air swept over her, and she zipped up her leather jacket, glancing at the slumped figure in a black hoodie near the door. The Machine helped them place him out of sight of the security cameras, and now Lionel was going to take care of him. Job done.

Satisfied with the day’s work, she walked briskly back to where they had parked the car and slipped in.

“So,” she said to Shaw playfully as she settled in the driver’s seat, “do you wanna talk about how you called me your girlfriend?”


End file.
